Time flickered by like a dying flame, and in the blink of an eye, November had arrived.

  Inside the dimly lit living room of the apartment, Pierce stood silently, gazing at the Brute Strength Potions that nearly covered the entire surface of the coffee table. A smile of profound satisfaction played across his lips. Over the past seven days and nights, he had effectively severed all ties with the outside world, depleting every last ounce of base materials in his possession.

  The final harvest was nothing short of glorious: he had produced a total of 52 vials.

  This yield far exceeded his initial actuarial projections. As his brewing frequency intensified, the corrective effects of the Omniscient Eye on his physical muscle memory became increasingly pronounced. His success rate had steadily climbed, now stabilizing at approximately 60%.

  It was a success rate that would strike terror into the heart of any veteran alchemist. Even if an official Arcanist were to personally brew such unranked basic potions, their stability would likely find it difficult to surpass his own.

  "Three Exquisite vials, twenty Superior, twenty-two Standard, and seven Basic. If I can successfully liquidate these through the proper channels, this batch should bring back at least five thousand gold coins."

  Pierce looked at the glass vials emitting a faint crimson glow in the gloom, his fingertips lightly tracing the rough oak corks. To amass these materials, he had entirely hollowed out his savings.

  He produced a heavy linen bag and carefully stowed the potions one by one.

  "I still lack a proper spatial storage device. Once this capital returns, the purchase of a Dimensional Pouch must be prioritized."

  While murmuring to himself, he summoned the system within his mind.

  Host: Pierce

  Spirit: 26.06

  Physique: 11.91

  Task 1: Analyzing Will-Rune #10. Estimated time remaining: 11 days, 18 hours, 12 minutes.

  Task 2: Optimizing Acid Splash model. Estimated time remaining: 9 days, 6 hours, 44 minutes.

  Task 3: Optimizing Touch of Fatigue model. Estimated time remaining: 5 days, 3 hours, 23 minutes.

  During this period of intense alchemy, he had successfully constructed Will-Runes #8 and #9. The leap in spiritual power had not only sharpened his senses but also driven further strengthening of his physique. With a Physique attribute nearing 12, he now possessed the capital to wrestle with an Intermediate Knight even without a suit of armor.

  "Omniscience, forcibly accelerate the optimization logic for Acid Splash."

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  The spiritual pool within his sea of consciousness instantly drained by more than half. Simultaneously, countless complex arcane geometries and energy circuits began to frantically reorganize within Pierce’s mind.

  The optimized model did not merely increase potency by forty percent; more importantly, it optimized the density of energy particle arrangement, granting the acid an incredibly high level of permeability. Miraculously, the casting cost dropped from $1$ Spirit unit to a mere 0.6.

  "This means my single cast now possesses a standard intensity of $9$ Degrees."

  Pierce had a clear understanding of this data. In yesterday’s testing, the original version’s intensity hovered around 6.5 Degrees. A leap to 9 Degrees meant he now possessed the capability to instantly kill a Peak Knight. Even a fully armored High Knight, if they were to take this composite spell of strong acid and corrosion head-on, would lose all combat effectiveness in an instant.

  "Omniscience, initiate deep optimization for Daze."

  Task created. Estimated time: 25 days.

  As nightfall completely enveloped Aurora City, Pierce donned a dark cloak and carried his heavy bag toward the northern district.

  The late-night streets were hollow and deathly silent. Old graystone lamps emitted a dim, flickering jaundice that stretched grotesque shadows across the damp pavement. The air was thick with the distinctive chill of late autumn, yet for Pierce, whose physique far surpassed that of an ordinary human, this low temperature brought only a faint sense of refreshment.

  He navigated the crisscrossing alleys, and within the ruins of a deserted mill, he skillfully changed into his signature black robes and fastened a featureless metal mask.

  As he ventured deeper, the atmosphere became increasingly chaotic and aggressive. Whispers of observation and greedy breaths echoed intermittently from the dark corners. However, whenever those ill-intentioned gazes brushed against the cold, distinctive aura of a caster radiating from Pierce, they invariably retreated in terror.

  Near the corner of the black market entrance, a typical scene of violence was unfolding.

  Three thugs in filthy leather jackets surrounded a limp drunkard. Just as they attempted to tear away the man’s final layer of clothing, the sound of Pierce’s footsteps startled them.

  A red-haired thug turned his head. Without even seeing the newcomer’s face clearly, he spat arrogantly and drew a rusted dagger from his waist. "Get lost, scum! Or I’ll open a hole in your gut—"

  Whish!

  A sharp, brief sound of air being torn apart erupted suddenly.

  Pierce did not even slow his pace. He merely flicked his finger. A pebble the size of a fingernail, bolstered by immense physical power, transformed into a blurred silhouette and precisely shattered the red-haired thug’s kneecap.

  The crisp sound of bone fracturing was exceptionally jarring in the silent street. The thug’s fierce cursing instantly transformed into a shrill, agonized wail as he collapsed uncontrollably to the ground, clutching his blood-soaked knee and rolling frantically.

  Not far away, Pierce slowly withdrew his hand, his eyes as cold as ice.

  To him, such ants—who weren't even Trainee Knights—were not worth even a moment's pause.

  The remaining two thugs stood rooted to the spot, their bodies trembling violently. As they caught sight of the black robes—symbolizing mystery and death—and the stranger’s devoid-of-warmth stride under the dim lamplight, a bone-chilling terror gripped their throats.

  This was undoubtedly a mysterious powerhouse heading to the black market, perhaps even a reclusive Arcane Initiate.

  Only after that black silhouette had completely vanished into the alleyway did the two thugs collapse in exhaustion, their backs drenched in cold sweat.

  "Help... Save me... My leg is broken..." the red-haired thug whimpered weakly.

  However, his two companions glanced at each other, their eyes reflecting a violent fury. They surged to their feet and began a frenzied barrage of kicks against their broken-legged comrade on the ground.

  "You idiot! You suicidal beast! You almost killed us all just now!"

  Author's Note:

  Era of the Arcanists. My only hope is that this story brings you a few moments of genuine joy.